At the Bottom of the Bottle
by Ragna ICEland
Summary: He hopes to find consolation at the bottom of the bottle. But where is the bottom?
1. Prologue: Frozen Eyes

_Hi, this is a very short prologue and I've got a lot to say so I might just make the chapter longer by saying those things._

_First of all; I wasn't going to post this until I had finished the whole story but I always get impatient and afraid that someone else gets the same idea and writes it faster and better so I'm posting this now…_

_There will most probably be long gaps between updates so I can try to catch up with myself, because it's guaranteed that there'll be some major writer's blocs later or just ordinary busy-ness… _

_Also, unfortunately I didn't have the guts to give this to my English teacher until the last month of school so only the first three chapters are well revised, I hope that the rest doesn't have many errors, my teacher told me I'm doing as well as any English speaking coeval of mine… but maybe he just said that because I was such a teacher's pet…_

_You may be able to guess what the story is about from its title. I haven't done any research on the material; I feel that I know enough about it. Keep in mind that people are different so there's not necessarily right or wrong in it…_

_Let's just put it this way, people keep telling me to open up, talk and share and blah-blah-blah… I like sharing with you guys, odds are I'll never have to look you people in the face…_

_So basically, it's not just about what the title implies… I guess I could say it's a story of life. With choices. Some of them not so good. And I'm still working on that angst thing, though I think I'll never get that right…_

_All right, I've blabbered so much that I shouldn't ever have to put an author's note in the whole story again (yeah, right!), so on to it then…_

_Wait a minute… there's something I'm forgetting…_

_What is it?_

…_hmm…_

_Oh, yeah!: __**PLEASE REVIEW! **__(isn't that what we're all here for?)_

_**Frozen Eyes**_

The blood red sun was starting to color the horizon. It reflected in the snow on the tree branches, sparkled and shimmered and made it seem like the trees were made out of crystal.

The passer-by driver stepped out of his car with a knot in his stomach. He made his way as fast as he could on the slippery road to the car that lay on its side on the side of the road. As he did, he got his cell phone out of his pocket. There was no connection. He cursed and then looked up. He laid a hand on the hood of the small, red Ford Fiesta. It was cold.

There seemed to be only one person in the wrecked car; a driver and the car lay on the driver's side.

He really had no way of getting the person out of there. He squatted and tried to see through the frozen windshield. He thought he could make out a head. He got his credit card out of the pocket of his coat and started to scrape off the frost. He shivered in the cold and suddenly his nearly frozen fingers dropped the card.

The eyes that were staring back at him were dead. He could tell, and he felt his stomach turn. He had never seen a dead person. Not like that. He had seen his own parents after they died but that was different. They were old and happy when they left.

The man was even more horrified because he knew the person. Not personally but he lived in Bayport –and that's where he was going after a business meeting in New York –and there were at least four faces that every townsman recognized.

This was one of them.


	2. Chapter 1: Lost hearts

_Whoa. Ok. I knew that prologue was short but it did look a little longer on the Word-sheet…_

_-Ok, I'm not going to be superficial and say that its shortness is making me update when I was gonna wait for a week to do that (I don't have enough on stock to update too often)_

_-No, it's that addiction. You ever find yourselves logging onto your computer five times a day, checking your e-mail ten times each time with butterflies in the belly, quivering lips and mad-eyes? I'm telling you, if everyone could write, no one would do drugs…_

_And on that note I must thank you, who reviewed… (tears up) I love you guys! (sniffling)_

_**Jolly001**__: Thank you so much! I don't what it is but it's really fun to write those author's notes ;) …… I'm overdoing them though, ain't I? _

_**Missy**__: (bows) Thank you; here is more and longer chapter!_

_**Lady Emily**__: Thanks for being the first to review my new story!_

_**bhar**__: Thanks a bunch! (pointing at myself) I wrote "chilling" and "effective" (nodding proudly) I'm so proud of myself! I do agree with you though, I suck at chapter titles, I don't know why I bother with them, I guess it's because I'd like to think they (indirectly, sometimes) can tell a lot about the chapter… but be warned; even cheesier chapter titles to come, e.g. the one below…_

_Here comes the answer to your question! _

**At the bottom of the bottle**

_**2. Lost Hearts**_

Joe Hardy, the blond, blue-eyed, (usually) vivacious 16-year-old, lazily made his way down the stairs and into the kitchen where his older brother Frank –who was dark haired and dark eyed and a little bit taller –and their father, Fenton –a tall and dark haired man, who was a famous private investigator –were already seated at the table, eating their breakfast.

"Good morning, sleepy-head," Fenton greeted when the blond youngster slumped into a chair.

"Mrning," he mumbled back, pulling the sleeve of his shirt over his hand and then taking the box of Cheerios and shaking it –finding it almost empty.

"You know, dad, I hope mom comes home soon before you'll get charged with undernourishment by social services," he then complained as he poured the remains of the cereal into a bowl.

The 17-year-old Frank looked up from the sport section of the news paper he was reading. "Yeah, dad, when does mom come home?"

"Should be either today or tomorrow," the detective replied, sipping his coffee. Then he looked at his watch. "Aren't you getting late for school?"

Frank shook his head. "Nah, not really, Joe's unusually early up, we've got enough time –especially if you lend us the car... you don't need it, right? You'll be working at home?"

"Yeah, yeah, you can take it. Still, I can't wait for you to get your own car," Fenton sighed.

"Well, that makes the two of us, then," Frank smiled.

"Excuse me? Three, I believe it is," Joe said with his mouth full, raising a hand to place emphasis on the words, and then: "Hey, can I drive?"

"I don't know, Joe. It started freezing again last night and the roads are slippery and you're not properly awake yet," Frank said.

"Oh, please, Frank. Give me a break. I am so much better driver than you," Joe glared at him.

-"Maybe when you are properly awake, which you aren't right now. I'll drive. You can drive back home."

Joe sighed deeply and leaned back in the chair. "All right, whatever, mommy..."

Fenton turned his head away to hide the grin on his face. "All right, you two, less talk, more hurrying so you won't be late for school, ok?"

Joe sighed again and threw his hands into the air. "And here I thought mom-free days were every guy's dream-come-true..."

The brothers were just getting ready to leave the house when the doorbell rang. Frank was standing closer to the door and opened it.

His eyes widened in surprise. "Oh, hey, Chief Collig, come in... Is something wrong?"

The middle aged, gray eyed police chief stepped into the house, holding his cap with both hands, his lips drawn into a thin line and his expression hard but unfathomable.

"Hello, boys, is your father at home?"

Fenton immediately came out of the kitchen. "Yup, I'm right here. Something's going on? We can talk in the living room…" he turned his attention to his sons, "You better get going..."

-"No," Collig cut in and then continued more softly, "No, Fenton... they should stay here, they need to hear this too."

Instantly a variety of options of what might have happened sprung to Fenton's mind. It was probably something concerning his work, maybe a serious threat to the community of Bayport, or perhaps a case that the police couldn't solve and needed a new pair of eyes? It had to be something bad since Collig looked so grave. Someone he had put behind bars had been released or had gotten out and wanted revenge?

Or –Fenton's stomach knotted up –something had happened to someone he knew… And the worst option, something had happened to Laura. But he thought that was very implausible and ruled it out. That couldn't be it.

But it was. None of them would believe it at first. –None of them would believe it at all. The three of them sat on the couch dumbfounded; their brains unable to comprehend the chief's words.

"But... but it can't be...it's...no..." Frank pleaded Collig with his eyes.

"I went to the scene myself, and I saw..." the chief looked away, not wanting to describe the blue, open eyes, the red, frozen pool of blood that had leaked to the ground between the joints of the car and its door.

"It was a car crash?" Fenton asked, still too shocked to understand.

Collig shook his head. "No, not a crash…. I don't know very much yet, the forensics is looking into it right now."

-"Where is she?"

"The body has been moved to the morgue for further examinations," Collig bit his tongue. He was starting to sound too technical when he was supposed to sound like a supporting and understanding friend. But he was having a hard time understanding, himself.

Laura Hardy was his good friend's wife. –She was a friend to him.

But he was a cop. He tried to distance himself from the horrors of his work by making it sound impersonal and cold but in this case he knew he couldn't do it that way.

Fenton wanted to argue. 'Hospital. She should rather be in a hospital than a morgue. _That_ just didn't make any sense.' But he didn't say anything.

"Can… can we see her?" Joe asked.

Collig, prepared for that question, nodded. "Yes. I'll drive you to… -down there."

XOXOXOX

The white cover was pulled off her face. That's when the real shock hit them.

Fenton drew a sharp breath and felt the bile rise in his throat and he shook his head vehemently. "No…no…. Oh God, don't let this be true…"

Frank's eyes welled with tears but he bit his lip and contained the sobs, threatening to erupt from his chest, knowing that if he started crying he wouldn't be able to stop.

Joe was unable to breathe. A cold chill crawled up his spine. When he asked if they could see her, he hadn't expected to see this. He had been looking for a confirmation of some sort of a prank or misunderstanding: Anything. -Anything else but this.

Ezra Collig stood behind them and felt his own resolve weaken.

Then Joe suddenly took a deep but shaky breath and stepped closer to the body of his mother.

He needed all the self control he had not to break down. There was no life in her eyes. It wasn't right.

He stroked her bruised cheek with a trembling hand. It was so cold. That wasn't right either, or the strange bend of her neck.

Joe looked up at Collig. "Can I close her eyes?" he asked in a small voice.

"NO! No, it's not true!" Frank screamed, "It's not true! I won't believe it, wake up, mom! Wake up….! Please…." and then he completely broke down and started crying so the heavy sobs tore into his chest with such force it hurt to breathe and it felt as if his lungs were burning.

Fenton wanted to do the same. Break down and cry. But he couldn't. He had to stay strong for his boys. So he wiped the tears off his cheeks and wrapped his arms around his older son and whispered into his ear. "Shh, son, it will be all right…it's all going to be all right…" 'Who am I kidding,' he then thought to himself glumly, 'Of course it's not going to be all right.' He swallowed. -Had to stay strong.

Joe bent down and kissed her on the forehead, before closing her eyes. 'I love you, mom.' He didn't say it out loud. He felt his own tears start to fall as he stood looking at her. She seemed more peaceful when her eyes were closed. Almost as if she was only sleeping.

-Almost. He sniffed and wiped his nose with the back of his hand.

Fenton heard, looked up and held out his hand to him. Joe moved into his embrace next to his brother and the father and sons grieved together.

XOXOXOX

The world was still in a haze later when the three of them followed Collig to his office at the police station.

The chief gestured for them to sit down and sat down himself behind his desk.

"So..." Fenton cleared his throat when he realized his voice was cracking, "What do we know so far?"

"Not so much... I, I mean, I could tell you the exact details of...uh, of how she…died... but I'd like to spare you from that..." Collig said.

"I meant the car. Had it been tampered with in any way?" Fenton asked.

-"The report hasn't been turned in yet, I'm expecting it any minute now though."

"But is there anything we can do?" Frank asked.

Collig shook his head. "No, Frank, I'm afraid not."

"But…there has to be," the dark haired boy insisted, grimacing in frustration.

"I'm sorry, Frank. There just…isn't," Collig said as gently as he could.

"But…." Frank groaned in anger and leaned back in the chair.

"Son… calm down," Fenton said, squeezing Frank's shoulder.

Collig turned his attention to the younger boy who was sitting next to his brother, staring straight ahead and hadn't said a word.

"Joe…" he began but was interrupted by a knock on the door and then a police officer stuck his head through the door way.

"Excuse me sir, but we have the report if you want to take a look at it."

"Yes, thank you, Riley. Ask the receptionist to fax it to my office, please," Collig said.

"Yes, sir," said the officer and left with a curt nod.

Moments later the fax machine by the window beeped and buzzed and a piece of paper slid out of it.

Collig reached for it and quickly skimmed over it.

"Let me see it," Fenton said and held out his hand.

Collig looked up. "Do you really think that's wise, Fenton?"

"Do you really think I give a damn about what's wise right now, Ezra? Give me that," Fenton snapped back and motioned for Collig to hand over the report.

The chief shook his head and sighed but pushed the sheet over the table.

Fenton skipped to the line that read:

_Approximated cause of death: Internal bleeding/bleeding to the brain/spinal damage_

He closed his eyes. Cause of death… Death. Death. It echoed in his head. He forced himself to breathe steadily before he continued to read.

_Approximated cause of incident: Icy conditions, ill view._

_Other remarks: Loose rubber on windshield wipers, causing ill view._

"Is that why it happened?" Fenton looked sharply at Collig. "The rubber was loose?"

Collig shook his head. "I don't know, Fenton. I don't think we'll ever get to know exactly why it happened. We can only observe, assume and surmise."

XOXOXOX

When they left Collig's office Fenton noticed a man standing by the reception seeming very agitated. He was middle-aged, tall with silver gray short hair and stubbles of beard.

Collig saw where his friend was looking. "Fenton, this is Mr. Terry Wyatt," he introduced, "He was the first to arrive at the scene this morning and notify us."

Mr. Wyatt –who had looked towards them when he heard his name –approached slowly and stopped in front of Fenton.

"I am…very sorry for your loss, Mr. Hardy," he said and held out his hand and in his green eyes there was genuine compassion.

Fenton stared at him for a moment before nodding and shaking his hand. "Thank you," he mumbled huskily.

Mr. Wyatt smiled a little though it looked more like a grimace and turned to the boys and simply nodded. Then he looked at Collig.

"Is there anything else I can do to help, Mr. Collig?"

"No. Thank you, Mr. Wyatt. You may go home now," Collig answered and shook the man's hand. Then he laid his hand on Fenton's shoulder. "I'll drive you back home."

XOXOXOX

"Who do we kill?" Joe asked, when they came out of the police station, his eyes dark with repressed fury.

Fenton and Collig both looked at him surprised.

"Son…" Fenton began.

"There has to be someone who's responsible for this. There has to be some clue somewhere," the blond boy continued with fierceness.

His father looked at his older son for support, knowing that he somehow always knew how to talk to the younger one.

But Frank's eyes expressed similar emotions; Anger, confusion; the need to find a culprit.

Finally Fenton sighed and took a step closer to the brothers, laying a hand on their shoulders. "I promise you boys, we will…do what we can."

XOXOXOX

_Erm. Ok, if it's bad, then all I can say to my defense is that my mom hasn't died on me yet and dealing with the loss of a loved one is not the main point of the story (although a big point, I suppose…)_

_This time I will not update for seven days at least (if the withdrawal symptoms don't finish me; remember my speech about reviews earlier?). So please review!_


	3. Chapter 2: Crystal Flowers

_Grazie! Gracias! Merci! Obrigado! Danke! Mange tak! Kitos! Kærar þakkir!_

_Eeek! Oh, man! The happiness…but first things first:_

_I want to thank a few people; __**JV4ever, Shallowbunny, LazyPanther**__ and especially __**lightwarai**__ for clearing some things up for me._

_-And of course, my regards to you who reviewed:_

_**happychica**__: Sorry about killing your favorite character…but you'll even that out for us with your stuff, right? ;) Thanks for reading!_

_**whitetiger**__s: Thank you but me? Capturing emotions? Wow, I must really be growing up! _

_**astalder27**__: Erm. We'll see how that plays out. Ehem-hem…Thank you._

_**bhar**__: Thanks so much! Sorry for scaring you but it gets better…um, before it gets worse…_

_**Shallowbunn**__y: Ugh! I knew it! My teacher was just saying it, when he said he couldn't improve it… but since he's not actually English or American I guess he can't be blamed… it just makes him less believable as an English teacher, you know? Anyway, thank you very much, that means a lot to me coming from you. :D_

_**thunderknight**__: Thank you and sorry for not updating sooner but if I update too fast, I'll run out of written material and that would mean even longer time between updates…which is probably gonna happen anyway…_

_**Jolly001**__: Thanks, like I said; writing is my way of sharing and I find it works…reading the responses feels so good. :P _

_My English skills have only developed as well as they have because of the Hardy boys and all of you; this fan fiction community, so thank you!_

_Here's another chapter (kinda short, I know), now excuse me while I go and faint from happiness… _

XOXOXOX

_**Crystal Flowers**_

_**A loving mother, beloved wife and a devoted friend: **_

_**Laura Mildred Hardy **_

_**1967-2006 **_

_**-The true home of our hearts, foundation of our strength and savior of our souls. **_

_**May you forever rest in peace.**_

This was written on the headstone that would crown Laura Hardy's grave.

The sky was dark; thousands and thousands of enormous snowflakes fell down and tucked in the ground with a soft, white duvet.

Not many people were invited to the funeral. Only closest relatives and friends: Laura's parents, Fenton's sister Gertrude and their second cousin Elmer, Fenton's partner: Sam Radley and his wife Ethel, Ezra Collig, some of Laura's friends, the Morton family, the Hooper family and lastly Terry Wyatt.

After the church ceremony Fenton, Frank, Joe, Sam, Ezra and Terry carried the coffin from the black car to the cemetery where it was lowered to its place. The minister shoveled a bit of mould on the coffin finishing off with the traditional words: "Dust you are and to dust you shall return."

It was quiet and quick. No purpose in prolonging things.

And all the while the redwings and robins sang their fairest songs where they sat on the tree branches above the black-dressed people that stooped their heads in homage to the dead and the snowflakes fell, decorating the bare branches with white crystal flowers of snow.

XOXOXOX

There was no funeral reception either. Fenton felt he just couldn't handle any more of it. Everything that reminded him of Laura was too painful. Half of him was gone and he didn't know what to do with himself.

The days before the funeral were spent trying to find the tiniest tinge of a clue that would lead him on the track. On what track he had no idea. He just had to believe that there was one. But the investigation was weak. There was absolutely nothing to go on.

The rational part of his mind told him that it had simply been an accident, that she had just lost control over the car, that there was no track, that he should just let go...

That tiny part was overshadowed by the part of his mind that was infected by his sons' fury.

He could only blame himself. He had always preserved the investigator in them and raised them to be sharp-witted and skeptical, always preaching: 'I don't believe in coincidences.' He snorted and shook his head. Apparently, he hadn't been thorough enough on the difference between 'coincidence' and 'accident.'

When they came home the brothers locked themselves in their bedrooms and Fenton excused himself to his office.

Gertrude and Elmer sat down in the kitchen and had a cup of coffee. They tried to have a conversation but didn't quite know what to say.

"I shouldn't have let her go," Gertrude said after a while of silence.

Elmer looked at her questioningly.

"Laura was staying with me in New York while she was helping her parents moving to the supporting apartment. It's easier that way, what with her father's illness and all. -He has a bad case of Alzheimer, you see. Anyway, she insisted on leaving in the middle of the night. Said she wanted to avoid the traffic," Gertrude said.

"It wasn't your fault," Elmer said, taking her hand in his, "And it's rational. Hell, you would expect there to be less odds of accidents when there's less traffic."

They were quiet for a few minutes.

"And are you now going back to… wherever it was you came from?" Gertrude asked.

Elmer was a shipman. He worked on a trawler.

-"Yes, I've got no business here; wouldn't know what to do. That's your territory. You are staying, aren't you?"

-"Yes, I'd better do that. At least for a while so I can help with the household while Fenton re-collects himself."

Elmer nodded although personally he thought Fenton wouldn't be able to recover until someone had been locked up for this; someone had been brought to justice. But like everybody except for Fenton and the boys, he believed it had only been an accident.

Gertrude lifted her head and looked out of the window. And then muttered, "What the…?"

XOXOXOX

Frank and Joe lay on their beds each in their separate rooms, each with their own thoughts.

Frank was slowly coming to the same conclusion as everyone else. Every single thing they came up with, to somehow connect this to a crime, came to a dead end. It was infuriating but Frank had to admit to himself that if his mother had been murdered, none of them would ever have been at peace even though they found the murderer. All of them would want to kill that person with their bare hands, but would never allow each other to do so. And there certainly wouldn't be any peace in knowing that the killer would be alive, even behind bars.

These thoughts were infuriating too because he wanted to hate someone. He had already gone through the train of thought whether there really was a God that allowed something like this to happen, what was the purpose, the meaning. Who deserves, who doesn't…. But these thoughts were pointless. They gave no answers and no comfort. –Only dozens of others and equally complicated questions. And it was just too much to take.

XOXOXOX

Joe's mind was overclouded with anger, anger towards the world, the injustice; everything. There was no space for grief anymore. He had already cried all the tears he possibly could into his pillow.

The rancorous thoughts shot back and forth in the turmoil of his head, completely adrift and there was no way of settling them so finally it felt like his scull was splitting apart and his vision grew red and cloudy.

XOXOXOX

Fenton was sitting behind his desk in sort of a trance, his mind completely blank. It was almost comfortable. A framed photograph of him and Laura was standing on the desk in front of him and although his eyes were fixed upon it, he had long stopped seeing it.

Then he had to blink, and the room around him came back into focus. He looked around in it and suddenly felt that there weren't enough of things that reminded him of his family in there. Not enough pictures on the walls for instance. Just a number of file cabinets and all kinds of detective devices: spy cameras, microphones, wires, detectors…

He looked into the corner where there was a couch. The wrinkly cover on it was hanging off the edge of it, halfway to the floor.

He had slept in there ever since Laura died. He hadn't even opened the door to the bedroom; somehow couldn't bring himself to do it.

He sighed softly and closed his eyes, tried to regain his previous state of mind.

He was interrupted by his sister's voice. "Fenton! Boys! Come down, you must see this!"

XOXOXOX

It was growing dark and the snow kept falling. But the weather was no hindrance to human sympathy, compassion; love.

When Fenton stepped outside the door he had to blink several times before he could take in the sight. His sons came to stand by his side and Gertrude and Elmer behind. They were all in awe.

In front of the house there was an ocean of flowers, candles, sympathy greetings -and people. Never before had the Hardys witnessed such a display of affection from their fellow townsmen. And even Joe's dark thoughts succumbed to gratitude and mutual affection for these people.

There were hundreds of them; the entire street was tightly crowded.

Everyone present at the funeral was there. And there were also a number of faces they knew and cared about. There were the boys' friends: Chet Morton, his younger sister Iola, Biff Hooper, Callie Shaw, Tony Prito, Phil Cohen, Jerry Gilroy and all of their families.

There were many of present and former colleagues of Fenton's, including Ezra Collig, Sam Radley, Con Riley, Jack Wayne and many cops from New York.

And there were family friends such as Hurd and Adelia Applegate and Elroy Jefferson.

But the majority of the gathering was people that they didn't know personally, but people that knew them and appreciated them. And there they all stood and lowered their heads in respect.

Fenton's chest swelled up and his eyes filled with tears. He thought about saying something but then decided he couldn't. No words could describe what he was feeling so he just nodded his own deep appreciation.

Frank looked over the crowd, overwhelmed with emotions. Then he couldn't help but smiling, it was too beautiful and he could only whisper the heartfelt words, "Thank you…"

Joe bit his lip when he realized that he could still cry a little more. When he knew that this was all there was to it; the closure. He couldn't hate a world with such people. Such people made it worth living in it.

And while the people stood silent in the cold, radiating fondness, and honoring the memory of Laura Hardy, the snow kept falling and forming crystal flowers.

XOXOXOX

_Aaw…if it wasn't for the little twist I'm about to add, this could have been the whole story…-But I thought of the twist before I ever thought of killing Laura so I guess it couldn't have been that way…hmm…anyway…_

_Laura's middle name appeared in one of the originals; I can't remember which one… I think it had something to do with a ring or a key or whatever…_

_Elmer was in The Mystery of the Whale Tattoo_

_In case you were wondering… _

_Until next week! Please review!_


	4. Chapter 3: Bleeding Soles

_A few 'thank you's before the chapter… I feel ungrateful if I don't put them there and I'm far too lazy to reply to everyone individually… please bear with me…_

_**thunderknight:**__ Thank you!_

_**whitetigers: **__Thank you!_

_**Shallowbunny: **__Thank you!_

_**Jolly001**__: Thank you! And huh? Didn't really get those wisdom words of yours there…_

_Well, hey, look at me! Looks like I'm getting that angst thing down after all _B) ..._ though it seems like it's doing more for you than me… Hugs and kisses to you all!_

XOXOXOX

_**Bleeding Soles**_

He opened the door and gasped when the memories washed over him.

She was coming from the bathroom, wearing a white nightgown, brushing her damp hair. She was grinning playfully at him as she pulled the curtains from the window in the morning, bathing the room in sunlight, rendering him momentarily blind.

She was rocking an infant in her arms in the middle of the night, smiling tiredly but fondly at it and then at him.

She was sneaking her arms around his waist from behind, leaning her head on his back and whispering softly to him after an argument.

She was laughing when he pulled her into his arms, kissing her lips and touching her face.

She was lying beside him, sleepy but happy while he caressed her cheek.

-She was everywhere he looked…. Only she wasn't.

He couldn't get his head around it. It seemed so surreal, so unbelievable that he would never see her again. Never hold her, never talk to her, never hear her, never feel her…

The list went on endlessly.

"Dad?"

Fenton turned around to see Frank standing behind him and watching him worriedly.

"Are you ok, dad?"

Fenton gave him an empty look.

"Dad?" Frank stepped closer to him.

Then Fenton blinked his eyes and shook his head and took a deep breath. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm all right, son. I… I was going to… get my shaving kit… and some clothes."

-"You want me to do it?"

Fenton shook his head again. "No, no, it's no problem. You should get your brother up before Gertrude tries. You know how they always end up fighting when that happens…" He puckered his lips in an attempt to smile, then went into the room and closed the door behind him.

Frank sighed and went back down the corridor. He stopped in front of his brother's room and knocked on the door.

"Joe?"

No one answered so Frank tried the doorknob and found the door was unlocked.

Joe was already awake and dressed. He was lying on the bed with his hands crossed behind his head and staring at the ceiling.

"You gonna get up?" Frank asked.

The younger brother rose up without saying a word and moseyed after the older one down to the kitchen.

"Morning, boys," Gertrude greeted with her ever-stern voice, "Hurry up with the breakfast so you…"

-"Won't be late for school," Joe mouthed with her and rolled his eyes, "Yeah, yeah, yeah."

Then they ate breakfast in silence. Fenton didn't come down. It was like the house was holding its breath, like it knew that something was brewing and subconsciously its residents sensed it too. They were almost tiptoeing and the faintest sound of spoon rattling against a bowl or cough or someone clearing his throat sounded like an explosion to them.

The boys felt relieved when they got out of the tension-filled house even though the freezing air stung their nostrils. Frank drove to the school and they remained silent on the way.

XOXOXOX

They encountered some of their friends outside the school building.

"Hey, guys!" Frank greeted.

Chet, Biff and Phil all turned around and smiled.

"What's up?" Biff, a tall and muscular, blond and blue-eyed boy, asked.

"How are you guys doing?" Chet, a podgy boy with brown eyes and brown crew cut hair, asked.

"How's your dad?" Phil, who was tall and slender with wavy brown hair, dark eyes and glasses, asked.

Frank smiled and tackled the questions in correct order. "Nothing's up, we're ok and dad's not as ok."

Biff turned to Joe. "You'll come to football practice after school?"

Joe looked up from the ground. "Yeah, 'course. What else would I be doing?"

"Hey, guys," Tony, an Italian boy; black-haired and dark-eyed, and Jerry, a bleach-blond, wiry-built one with brown eyes, approached. "What's for first period?" Jerry asked.

"Um, I don't know about you, but I have physics," Phil answered.

"You have history, Jerry, We're together in it," Joe said.

"Oh shoot…" Jerry mumbled.

Frank felt a soft, warm hand sneak into his palm and then the faint smell of perfume filled his senses.

"Hi, Frank," someone whispered just below his ear.

He turned around, smiling at his slim, blonde, brown-eyed girlfriend. "Hi, Callie."

"How are you doing?" she asked.

Frank sighed. "You know, I'd be a rich man if I started charging people for every time they asked me that."

She shrugged. "Can I pay in kisses?"

Frank's brows lifted. "Wouldn't hate that…"

"Oh, for cripe's sake, get a room," Biff exclaimed and frowned to hide a grin when Callie leaned closer to Frank.

"Um…Chet?" a new voice joined in.

"Yeah, Iola, what is it?" Chet asked, looking at his younger sister who had medium-long, dark hair and large, dark eyes.

"Can I borrow a pen or a pencil or something to write with? I must have forgotten mine at home," she said.

Chet groaned. "Oh, Iola! How many times must I tell you to keep that stuff in your locker? That way you can't forget it somewhere else."

"Yeah, well, I need it at home," the dark haired 15-year old snapped at her brother.

"Well, see, you can keep some of them at home and others here," Chet explained like he was trying to tell her what two plus two is.

Iola pouted angrily and looked as if she would retort something back but then shook her head. "Look, can you just lend me something or not?"

Joe reached into the side pocket of his bag and pulled up a pen. "Here, I have an extra," he said and handed it to her.

"Thanks, Joe. I'll give it back after school," she smiled at him.

He shrugged and shoved his hands back into the pockets of his jeans. "Don't worry about it. I have billions of those."

She still smiled and then walked away.

The school bell rang and everyone hurried inside to get to class.

XOXOXOX

"Fenton," Gertrude rapped lightly on the door, "Fenton? Are you all right?"

There was no answer for a while.

"I'm fine," he finally said.

-"Are you sure?"

"Yes, Gertrude. Just… give me a moment," Fenton pleaded.

"All right," she replied and he heard footsteps getting further away from the door.

He sat on the windowsill trying to get a grip on his thoughts. He rubbed his unshaved chin and willed himself to concentrate.

There were so many things he needed to do. He had a family to keep together. He couldn't be the one to break….

He nearly did. He covered his face in his hands and sank deep into despair.

Then he jerked his head back up and sniffed. 'What am I doing?' He rubbed his tired eyes and looked over the bed. It was exactly like Laura had left it when she went to New York. He hadn't slept in there while she was gone. Most often when she was away he slept on the studio couch in his office –mostly to avoid having to make the bed.

"_Well, Fenton. Guess you gotta get used to that," she laid her hand lightly on his shoulder._

He shook his head. 'I'm losing my mind.' He stood up abruptly and went out of the room, down the stairs and into the living room.

A bottle of scotch stood on a tray along with a few glasses on an antique wooden table in one corner.

He poured into one glass and drank up.

Gertrude came to the doorway. "Fenton…"

-"Not now, Gertrude," Fenton said without looking at her as he poured again into the glass.

His sister was quiet for a moment.

"But Fenton, I think…" she started but was cut off again.

"I said: Not now, Gertrude," he snapped but then sighed, "Please."

Gertrude nodded and went back into the kitchen.

Fenton emptied the glass again. He looked at the bottle. –Measured it. 'Oh, hell!' He opened a glass cabinet beside the table and found a vodka bottle on the bottom shelf. He closed the cabinet, picked up the bottle and took it back to his bedroom and locked the door.

XOXOXOX

It had never been harder to wake up. –Or more correctly, to get up. Waking up wasn't the issue. In fact, that was the easy part. Especially because what awoke him in the first place was a splitting headache –and then he felt how thick and fuzzy and oversized the tongue was in his mouth and how swollen his eyes were and how sore his throat was. He grunted, made a decision and swung his legs off the bed and onto the floor and quickly stood up. –Big mistake.

The headache got even worse, dizziness and nausea were added to the mix and a burning pain stung into the soles of his feet. He had stepped on small and sharp pieces of glass that lay scattered on the floor in a pool of vodka.

He sat back on the bed and pulled his legs up to examine the injuries. A few pieces were buried in the flesh and blood trickled from the wounds and because of the vodka, it stung like hell.

He carefully pulled the little glass pieces out of his feet. 'No need to wash it,' he thought dryly. He took a deep breath and wondered what time it was. He looked at the alarm clock on the nightstand. Just three o'clock in the afternoon. He rubbed his eyes and mouth and tried to get himself together. He felt like crap.

He made another attempt to get off the bed, this time on the other side and then he took a detour around the vodka puddle to get to the bathroom and every step hurt like hell so he tried to walk on his toes since they were least cut.

He took a shower and the hot water pained him greatly at first but slowly he got used to it –but not to standing on his heels so he had to tiptoe his way around. After the shower he felt a little bit better although the headache and the nausea were still there. He shaved and got dressed and then tiptoed downstairs. By that time Frank and Joe were already home from school.

Gertrude had fixed them some light snack and they sat by the kitchen table and ate quietly.

"Hey, dad," Frank carefully greeted when he heard him come into the kitchen and then he noticed he was hobbling, "What happened?"

"Hm?" Fenton looked at him glassy-eyed. "Oh, nothing… Do we have any aspirin?" He started rummaging through the cupboards.

"It's in the cupboard above the canned food," Gertrude said looking at him closely.

When Fenton had downed the pills and half a bottle of cold water he looked back at his sons. "So… how was school?"

"You mean today or yesterday?" Joe asked, glaring coldly at him.

"Well, um…" Fenton scratched his head shamefully, "Both?"

"It was…well, like school; kind of boring, really," Joe answered, got up and headed out of the kitchen.

"Joe, wait!" his father grabbed him by the shoulder. "I'm sorry, I really am. I just…."

All three of them, Joe, Gertrude and Frank were looking at him questioningly.

"I'm sorry and I promise it won't happen again," he concluded and bit his lip, hoping for some response.

"All right, dad. We'll forgive you," Joe said and patted his father on the arm that still held on to his shoulder. "Now if you would excuse us, Frank has my homework to do," he said and grinned.

The brothers smiled and went upstairs.

Fenton turned to his sister and saw that she was still concerned. "Don't worry, Gertrude. It's gonna be fine."

Gertrude nodded but didn't say anything.

XOXOXOX

_Here ends the part that my teacher proof read so I'll cross my fingers for the rest…please leave an opinion…_


	5. Chapter 4: Memories of the Weekend

_To_

_**-thunderknight: **__Thank you so much!_

_**-Jolly001: **__Thank you, I was rather proud of my wordplay there if I do say so myself :)_

_**-whitetigers: **__Thank you for reading, sorry for being unclear… Suppose Fenton started drinking after noon whichever-day and woke up in the afternoon the next day…_

_**-Red Hardy**__: Thanks for reading. I liked your interpretation of things, I didn't even realize I was doing it the way you described it… I only know what I'm doing with Fenton…:D Thanks again!_

_**-astalder27**__: Sorry if you got confused… the idea of a title for this story came from a song called "He's no hero" by Bryan McFadden…Thank you…_

_**-FrankMustGetHurtSomehow**__: Thanks a million! Your username's funny… _

XOXOXOX

_**4. Memories of the weekend**_

The days passed and life went on. For a while Fenton could only tend to paperwork while his feet were healing from his little accident with the glass bottle and Sam took care of the rest.

He didn't like it although he knew he was useless for anything else. But when he was alone in his office, the memories assaulted him consistently. At least the boys could go out with their friends and enjoy themselves but he was a prisoner in his own home where everything screamed her name at him.

Almost twenty years together, through thick and thin and now she wasn't there anymore.

The thought of even longer time without her was unbearable.

A soft knock on the door interrupted his thoughts and he looked up. For a moment he was stunned.

"Laura?"

"Mr. Hardy?" Brown eyes observed him shyly but worriedly.

He blinked. The vision disappeared.

-"Is Frank at home? Gertrude let us in but she seemed to be in hurry. He's not in his room."

"Oh…yes, Callie, he's in the garage," Fenton replied and when he noticed Biff standing behind her, he added, "And Joe's there too."

"Ok, thanks Mr. Hardy. Take care of yourself," Biff said, smiling sympathetically before turning and walking back down the hallway after Callie.

XOXOXOX

"Oh my goodness! I can't believe we're gonna go through all this stuff –and what the hell for? After a week it's all gonna be a heap of mess again, anyway," Joe said exasperated.

Frank shrugged. "I guess Aunt Gertrude just wants to keep us busy."

"Well, it's weekend. I don't wanna be busy doing things I don't wanna do," the younger brother complained.

Frank shook his head and picked up a cardboard box full of old music records since the early days of their parents. He put it on the top shelf innermost in the garage and turned to the next box to see what it contained. It turned out to be old photo albums.

He randomly chose one to look into. He stared at the first opening for a few seconds. Then he burst out laughing.

"Hah! Joe, you gotta see this!"

Joe, who had been trying to figure out where to put some gardening tools, walked to his brother and looked over his shoulder. "What am I looking at?" he asked although he had a pretty good idea. But he wanted to be sure.

"I'm 99, 9 percent sure that's dad," Frank said and started laughing again.

In the photo, Fenton was wearing ridiculously tight, faded and torn jeans and a leather jacket and his hair was long and messy done in something akin to a mullet.

"This is just too scary," Joe said with horror.

"Oh and look, here's mom," Frank pointed at the picture below. "She doesn't look as terrible as dad… She was kind of pretty."

"She's –was –always pretty," Joe snorted, "Despite that hairstyle. How much mousse did she use per day, I wonder," He smiled sadly.

Frank's face also showed his nostalgia. He flipped over to the next page.

"Who's that?" Joe asked, his forehead wrinkling in thought.

"Could it be…?" Frank hesitated and then shook his head, "No. No, that's impossible…"

-"What?"

Frank bit his lip to keep the grin from spreading over his face. "Could it be that this is…Aunt Gertrude?"

They both stared at the photo for a while. The young woman in it had long, dark hair and a bandeau over her forehead. She wore a t-shirt with large letters that read: NO RULE! ALL RULE! She was holding her thumb up and smiling broadly into the camera.

"Should we ask her?" Frank asked.

Joe eyed him as if he had lost his mind. "Ask her? You wanna ask Aunt Gertrude if she ever was anything else than a serious, ever-reprimanding, household-tyrant? –A pot-smoking, protestant hippie, for example? Well, you go ahead. I'll wait somewhere to pick up your remains..."

They found another picture of her, holding hands with a black man with long dreadlocks and they were both smiling widely.

Then there was a picture of Laura and Fenton together, probably from the early days of their relationship.

"They looked so happy," Joe commented.

"They did," Frank agreed. He got a lump in his throat.

The garage door opened and Callie and Biff entered.

"Man, that was creepy," Callie was saying. She seemed shocked, her eyes were wide and she was holding a hand over her heart.

"It was sad, is what it was. Poor man," Biff said.

"Hello to you too," Joe said, "And thanks for knocking. What are you talking about?"

"Your dad thought I was your mom," Callie said and moved into Frank's inviting arms.

"He doesn't seem to be coping very well," Biff said.

"No, he isn't," Frank said, "I just don't know what to do about it."

"It hasn't been that long. He just needs time," Callie looked up at him and he tightened his hold on her waist.

-"I know. It's just so…. I mean, he's been always so strong."

-"And now he's a nerve wreckage," Joe finished.

-"Exactly. And here we're feeling guilty because we're not as devastated."

"So you've accepted that it was an accident?" Biff asked.

"We've accepted that there's nothing we can do to change the past," Joe avoided answering directly.

"Well, that's a start, huh?" Biff slapped him on the shoulder in a supportive manner, "Anyway, I was just going to ask you to join me on a quest, leading away from these tragic events to a little gleam of joy in everyday-life!"

"In modern English?" Joe required.

-"Well, remember Chet was saving up for some wheels? He had decided on two…"

-"Yeah, I remember. He bought one of them?" Joe said, "Which one?"

-"The Buick."

-"Oh, yes! That's awesome!"

-"I know, she's gorgeous. It's a Skylark 1970. Well, Chet told me she hardly runs but a little touch up and she'll be good as new. I was going over there to check it out but as you know I'm kind of short on transport resources," Biff grinned innocently.

"So you're saying you need a ride?" Joe verified.

-"Yes. That's exactly what I've been saying. Weren't you listening? Besides, I think it'll do you good too."

"Ugh! Men! What is it with men and machines? Why do they compare cars with women?" Callie asked and looked annoyed.

"_Men_?" Biff's chest puffed out.

"Machines strengthen our masculinity. You see, we can control the machines… unlike the women…" Joe explained to her.

"That is so chauvinistic!" she exclaimed offended.

"But it's true. Now, I was gonna ask you both to come but I assume you wanna be spending some time with your girl, huh Frank?" Biff looked at him.

Frank looked into Callie's face. "Yeah, I suppose…"

-"Well, we can all go," Callie said and then looked uncertainly at Frank, "If you don't mind me tagging along, I mean," she snorted and rolled her eyes, "I'm sure me and Iola would have a blast grumbling over men and machines' relationships."

Frank looked at his brother and Biff. "Well, the more the merrier."

"Are we going to sneak out without finishing here?" Joe asked, "Aunt Gertrude's gonna be really pissed off."

"Oh, don't worry. She was leaving the house when we came," Biff waved him off.

"Ok, I'll go get the car keys," Frank said.

"I'll wait outside. I suddenly feel really awkward around your dad," Callie said and started towards the door.

-"Yeah, me too," Biff said and hurried after her.

The Hardy brothers went inside the house. Frank wrote a note to their aunt and put it on the telephone table in the hallway.

"Dad! We're going to Chet's. Isn't it ok to take the car?" Joe shouted up the stairs.

"Maybe we should go check on him," Frank said quietly.

They went upstairs and knocked on the door to their father's office.

"Hey, dad?" Frank pushed the door open.

Fenton looked up from the photograph in his hands. "Hm? Yeah, what is it son?"

-"Um, we're going to Chet's if we can have the car."

Fenton nodded absent-minded and looked back at the photo. "Yeah, sure. No problem."

"Yeah…ok. Bye, we'll be back for dinner," Frank said hesitantly.

Fenton nodded again.

Frank closed the door and exhaled loudly. "He's seriously starting to freak me out."

"I know… Hey, Frank…" Joe trailed off and shook his head.

-"What, Joe?"

-"I'm just thinking maybe he needs, you know… professional help, or something," Joe shrugged and seemed uncomfortable.

Frank sighed. "He's grieving; we've got to give him the time he needs."

-"I know. But I dislike this feeling; wanting to avoid my own father as much as possible."

-"Maybe it's us. Maybe we should try and talk to him… Get him to, I don't know, open up? Cheer him up?"

-"How? What could we possibly say to make him feel better?"

-"He still has us."

XOXOXOX

"I'll drive!" Joe volunteered.

"But of course you will," Frank rolled his eyes. "Hey, Biff, you mind sitting in the front and watch him? I am weary of it."

"Lousy excuse, Frank," Biff said grinning as he opened the door and got into the car.

"What do you mean?" Frank asked innocently, letting Callie first in.

-"You just wanna sit in the back so you two can smooch," Biff stated.

-"Oh, let 'em!" Joe said and started the car.

The Morton farm was located about fifteen minutes' drive north of Bayport city. Once they passed the city limits, there was hardly any traffic and Joe shifted to fourth gear and drove the accelerator to the floor.

Although it was sunny it was still frost. A thin layer of snow covered the ground but fortunately the roads were clear.

They passed the place were Laura died and all the teenagers were silent.

Joe took a turn to the left and drove up the unpaved sideroad that led to the farm. Soon the rural smell caught their noses and they heard dogs barking.

Joe parked the car in front of the house and as soon as they got out of it, two dogs came running and fawned upon them; one German Shepard dog and an old mongrel with brown fur and upright ears.

"Bert!" A female voice shouted from within the house. The teens looked towards it and smiled.

The old dog puffed its ears and ran towards the voice.

"Boom!" The voice thundered again and the sheepdog followed suit.

Kimberly Morton, a short woman with brown long hair and dark sparkling eyes, came out on the veranda.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, dears! Down Boom! Bad dog!" she pointed her finger sternly at the dog that lowered its head and became submissive.

Mrs. Morton turned back to the youngsters and gave all four of them a motherly hug, ending with Joe.

"How is your father?" she asked, her hands resting on Joe's shoulders while she looked into his eyes. "I've been meaning to come and see if he was all right but I kept getting busy…" she said embarrassingly.

"He's…uh, well, he has been better," Joe avoided her eyes; it felt strange to have somebody looking at him in that… motherly way. It felt like she was trying to draw out his sorrows somehow. -Made him want to weep.

When he was about to break down under her gaze, she finally looked away and smiled at them. "Well, I guess you're looking for the kids, huh? Well, Chet's in the old barn, doing something with his car. He's obsessed by the darn thing. I think Iola went somewhere with Peter, either to the silo or the cowshed, I'm not sure…"

-"That's fine, Mrs. Morton, I'll find her," Callie said.

Mrs. Morton smiled and went back into the house but the teens zipped their coats up to their necks and walked to the old barn.

The door, which was like a garage door, was open and the chubby boy was standing in front of the open hood of a bright, yellow Buick Skylark.

The smiles spread over the other boys' faces when they saw the car.

"Chet buddy! I had expectations, but wow!" Biff said, clearly impressed, when they came closer.

Chet turned around and smiled proudly. "Yeah, purrs like a kitten," he frowned slightly. "If the kitten has a bad flu or has smoked for 30 years, that is."

The boys laughed while Callie crossed her arms and rolled her eyes.

Frank came to stand beside Chet, looking at the engine. "What'cha got?"

Chet sighed. "Oh, man, what haven't I? Let me see, a whole new cooling system, change of oil, new timing belt, muffler…. And I probably have to do something about the air filter too. But the battery was in a remarkably good condition compared to everything else."

"Are you still talking English?" Callie asked.

"No, Cal! Their speaking Carcian, of course. –And personally I think Carcian is a code language which they use to talk behind our backs, only right in front of us."

Everyone looked towards the gleeful voice of Iola who was standing in the doorway, grinning mischievously.

She was wearing a thick wool sweater and large dark green rubber boots, her dark hair was in a ponytail. She had obviously been working because beside the state of her, she was supporting herself with a dirty shovel.

"That's neat theory, sis. You cracked the code yet?" Chet sneered.

"I'm working on it," she answered confidently.

"Sure," Chet turned back to the car and shut the hood of it.

Iola shook her head and went to one corner of the barn where there were all kinds of agricultural tools: shovels, hay forks, rakes, motor scythe-handles, a small tractor and hay rake that could be attached to it and a good deal of other equipment.

She put the shovel in its place and walked back on the right side of the car. There was only a narrow space between the car and the doorframe and she squeezed through it and slid past Joe who was standing outside, leaning against the doorframe. For a split second her arm touched his stomach and their eyes met. Joe couldn't help the warm sensation that spread from the spot and through his body until he noticed how accusingly she was looking at him and then he looked away.

"Hey, Callie, you wanna come in and hang? Let those machine-maniacs moon over the car?" Iola nodded her head towards her brother.

"Yeah, might as well," Callie answered, reached up and kissed Frank and then followed her friend.

Chet, Biff and Joe waited until the girls were out of earshot before they allowed the evil smirks to spread over their faces and turned on Frank.

"Aaaw! Gimme a smoochy, lover-boy!" Chet said, smacking his lips to make kissing sounds.

"Yes, and then let's go watch Bold and the Beautiful!" Biff added with a high-pitched voice.

"Come on, guys, what's wrong with you?" Frank said chuckling.

"You're such a great item! Have you set the date yet? Will you be naming your child after me?" Joe put his hand over his heart and the other hand on the top of it and blinked seductively.

"Oh, don't think I won't remember that!" Frank warned.

-"What are you talking about?" Joe gave him an innocent look.

-"You'll see," Frank grinned wisely.

"Howdy, boys!" Peter Morton, a burly built man with hands large as a bear's paws, came strolling to the barn with a shovel over his shoulder.

"Hey, dad," Chet greeted.

"Hello, Mr. Morton," the other boys said in unison.

"Did you manage to make that heap of junk run?" Mr. Morton pointed at the car with his chin.

"Dad, it's not a heap of junk and it runs just fine. It just needs a little fix-up, that's all," Chet defended his vehicle.

"Well, the cost of this fix-up is starting to bother me. You could have gotten a newer car for that amount of money," Mr. Morton pointed out.

"It's all getting there," Chet said patiently, "I just need to clean the filters and then I'm gonna get a catcon."

His father shook his head. He went and returned the shovel and turned back to the boys. "Well, don't you want to come in, now? My KiVi must have some snacks ready," he said and smiled broadly. Then he strode back to the house, humming loudly.

Biff nearly choked on his saliva, trying to hold back the laughter and croaked something inaudible. He faked a coughing fit to hide it. "What's KiVi?" he asked Chet in a low voice as the four of them followed Mr. Morton.

"It's mom: Kimberly Virginia," Chet answered, smiling, "He calls her that when he's in a really good mood."

"I _need_ to get a girlfriend before everyone around me, drown me in mush," Biff said and laughed, "Is Iola available?"

"You stay away from my sister, you schmuck!" Chet said as if he thought the idea was preposterous.

-"What, you're gonna let her get all lonely and man-less because no one's good enough?"

-"I never said _no one _was good enough. I just said _you_ weren't good enough."

-"Now, what's that supposed to mean?"

They kept on arguing good-naturedly and neither one of them noticed Joe's stiff expression.

They were welcomed by the two dogs as they entered the house and then the smell of new muffins.

Callie and Iola were already seated at the kitchen table. Mrs. Morton made the boys sit down and then she poured milk into glasses for all of them and then she went into the pantry and retrieved a tray, full of chocolate chip muffins.

"There you go, now dig in," she ordered smiling, showing the dimples in her cheeks –the family's trademark.

"Oh, Mrs. Morton, I couldn't possibly…! –Oh, well, if I must…" Biff said with a mock submission tone to his voice and eagerly sank his teeth into the soft muffin.

Joe and Iola both reached for a muffin at the same time. Their fingers touched and they pulled back like they had been burned. Joe smiled politely and motioned for her to get her cupcake first and then he got his and they ate silently, trying not to look at each other.

XOXOXOX

The ringing tone sounded hollow in the empty house. Fenton made no haste, carefully taking the stairs step by step from his bedroom where he had been lying, bored out of his mind, to the hall downstairs were the phone was.

He picked up the handset. "Hello?"

No one replied. All he heard was the heavy, snuffling noise of someone breathing.

Fenton sighed, untouched; having had many threat calls in his life and thinking this was no different. Almost automatically he turned on the recording and tracing device that was attached to the phone.

"Look, I'm really not in the mood for this but who are you, what do you want and how fast can we get it over with?" he asked tiredly.

Then the voice spoke. "I am nobody really…except I thought you might want to meet the man who killed your wife."

XOXOXOX

…

_This chapter is an excellent example of what a great editor I am. And that was sarcasm by the way…but, um… whatcha think:D _


	6. Chapter 5: Slippery Brink

_Hello again! I was gonna update last Monday but then I had to go to Reykjavík and I wanted to keep my Monday-update-habit so I waited a week…_

_**whitetigers, thunderknight, FrankMustGetHurtSomehow and Jolly001**__: thank you all so much for reviewing last chapter!_

_**Slippery Brink**_

Gertrude couldn't help but grumble. -Not that she didn't also mourn for Laura. She had been a good woman and it was perfectly understandable that Fenton was upset. But in her personal opinion, he needed to get a grip.

She sighed and put the grocery bags down on the porch while she searched for the keys in her pockets.

She gasped when the door burst open and Fenton came striding through it.

"Where are you going?" she demanded.

She didn't get any answer. But she did notice the pistol in the holster that was attached to his belt as his jacket blew open from the air his haste was causing.

Gertrude rushed into the house, quickly found the cordless phone and dialed Sam Radley.

"Radley here."

-"Hello, Sam, it's Gertrude. Something odd is going on with Fenton, he just left the house and he seemed… I don't know, homicidal?"

-"What do you mean?"

-"He just had that… expression."

-"Know where he went?"

-"No. He was headed towards Maple Street, though."

-"Oh, of course. We keep an emergency car there."

-"Oh. Then he probably went to get it because the boys have his car."

-"Do you have any idea at all what he might have needed it for?"

-"No, I don't… Unless… Hold on a minute, Sam."

Sam waited and heard a rumble through the phone and then muffled voices. Then Gertrude's voice came back.

"Sam, I know where he went."

XOXOXOX

Sam sped up the highway. Outside the city limits in the south there was a large area with facilities for all kinds of outdoor sports; hiking, golf, kayak paddling amongst.

Sometime, decades –maybe centuries –ago, there had been farms around the area and there were old roads –or more correctly: traces of roads –that led to a small lake. -A place that often attracted young couples. This was a very remote place in winters and hard to get to.

Sam saw that two cars had gone down the side road. The trail disappeared into the trees that surrounded the area.

He decided not to drive to the end of road which was by the lake but only into the forest, thinking about the advantage he had on foot; it was harder to see and hear him.

He got his handgun from the glove compartment, loaded it, stepped out of the car and looked around.

It was very quiet. Once in a while the smallest tree branches gave in to the weight of the snow on top of them and the snow fell to the ground with a little qwish-sound. The frost dry gravel gave a crunch sound when walked on so Sam tried not to walk on the footpaths. With the weapon ready, he crept further down the road until he came to the lake.

He hid behind a tree and saw Fenton pacing back and forth on the waterside. He pondered his options; go and get Fenton now? Or wait until this self-proclaimed murderer appeared? Or possibly call the police? No, there wasn't time for that.

Sam looked up the tree trunk; he could maybe climb up there for a better view over the place and a better aim because he was quite sure that it would end with something getting shot.

It was so obviously a trap and normally such a skilful detective as Fenton –or a lesser one for that matter –never would have thrown himself into it headfirst like that.

Not that Sam wouldn't throw all reason overboard and jump at the first chance to blame it on somebody if something happened to his own wife, Ethel.

He shook his head so he wouldn't loose his focus.

"You came."

Sam was startled by the voice and tried to keep a low profile behind the tree and hoped there was only one opponent to deal with.

"Who are you?" Sam heard Fenton say with a boiling rage beneath the calm voice.

"Does it matter?" Sam ventured to take a peek from the cover of the tree to see the speaker. It was a tall and muscular man, he was bald with a long and skewed hawk nose, like it had been broken a few times.

"Have we met before?" Fenton asked.

-"Maybe."

'He's stalling,' Sam realized. A "practical killer" would have shot Fenton from distance but this guy was up to something. Sam didn't really want to find out what.

"Tell me then, if you murdered my wife; how?" Fenton's voice was starting to get less controlled.

"It was simple. I followed her from New York, ran her car off the road. Ok, she wasn't supposed to die, I was going to hold her for ransom but you know how that turned out. But it's a bonus, to see you, up close, like that; like a ghost…"

'Pathetic liar,' Sam could just tell how this made no sense, having read the police report thoroughly. He wondered how he could get behind him, moving was a big risk but from where he was standing he'd risk shooting Fenton if he fired now.

"Then what do you want now?" Fenton asked.

-"World peace, of course! How about you? What do you want, Hardy?"

-"I want you to cut this crap and tell me what the hell you're up to?"

-"Honestly? Well, I was expecting you to shoot me right away. Why haven't you?"

Sam now understood the trap. He'd seen it before; it was ridiculous, so very very incredibly ugly that it was mad… Or brilliant, depending on which bank of the river you stood on…

The man continued. "You know, I didn't see it very clearly, but I think she was still alive when I left… must have been painful; too feel the life leave you slowly…"

As expected, that was when Fenton's composure vanished and suddenly the man lay on the ground, spitting out blood and front teeth.

Sam hurried out of his hiding spot. "Fenton, stop it!"

He grabbed the fist in the air and forced it down with all his strength. "Stop! Listen to me, he didn't do it!"

Fenton tore himself free and stared at his friend in disbelief. "Are you defending him?"

-"No, I'm not, he can go to hell for all I care," Sam looked disgustedly at the thug –who was trying to rise to his knees while coughing up blood –before knocking him out with his gun. "But he didn't kill Laura…"

Fenton winced at hearing her name and Sam said more softly: "Somebody must have hired him, just to show up here and have you beat the crap out of him, possibly kill him," he sighed angrily, "Damn it, I should have seen this coming. Of course they'll all be trying to push you over the edge. There are probably witnesses somewhere around here that have been paid to tell the police that you attacked him out of nowhere or something, who knows? -And then what? -Prison? You wouldn't last five minutes. The point is: Nobody killed Laura; she died. She's gone and there's nothing you can do about it except maybe try and go on living. Think about the boys, Fenton, they need you."

Fenton had gone downcast and shameful under Sam's speech.

"You're right, I'll try to stay levelheaded."

"That's good. Now I'm going to call Collig and I'll wait for them to pick up this one here," Sam pointed towards the unconscious man, "And you should go home. Are we clear?"

-"Yeah."

XOXOXOX

He was absent minded while driving back but he safely made it into the city. Then he noticed that he was running low on fuel. He gave blinkers to the right and turned, knowing about a gas station nearby.

He filled the fuel tank and paid through an automat.

"Good afternoon, Hardy," Fenton turned around to see an enormous man with short blond hair come out of the gas station, smiling at him.

"'Afternoon, Hooper, how are you doing?"

He didn't really know Michael Hooper but they always sat together when they attended a football game where they cheered for their sons.

"Been better, but not that I'm complaining. I mean, what with your situation and all…oh, that was terribly tactless of me, I'm sorry," Mr. Hooper said, mentally kicking himself.

"No, it's ok, don't worry about it" Fenton smiled weakly.

-"You look like you've been trying to wrestle with a ghost; you on a tough case?"

-"No, not really, it's just been a tough day."

Mr. Hooper shook his head sympathetically. "I think we could use a drink. I was headed for the pub if you want to join me…"

Fenton hesitated for barely two seconds. And that was how this whole self-infliction began.

XOXOXOX

The teens crowded in the farmhouse's living room. Biff jumped back-first on a red grain sack in front of the TV; Chet found a CD which he put into the stereo while munching a muffin, Iola and Callie sat on the sofa, chatting about cosmetics, Frank sat on the arm of the sofa and toyed with Callie's hair and Joe found a GameBoy on the shelf next to the CDs and started to play it.

It was a nice, sort of fuzzy, weekend laziness feeling. Then the phone had to go and ruin the atmosphere by ringing.

"Mom!" the siblings both called but Kimberly had either gone upstairs or outside because she didn't answer.

Chet looked at Iola. "Are you gonna get that?"

Iola eyed him thoughtfully before making her proposition. "Swap chores with me tonight."

-"What? Taking out the trash instead of loading the dishwasher? Deal."

Iola hurriedly got up and ran into the hallway to pick up the phone. "Hello? –Iola Morton. -Uh-huh. –Oh…yeah, sure." She stuck her head into the living room. "Frank or Joe? Mr. Radley wants to talk to either of you."

Joe was closer so he stood up and took the call. They talked for a few minutes. Frank forced himself to stand up and walk over to his brother and try to follow the conversation. Joe frowned when he hung up.

"What was that?" Frank asked.

"Someone tried to set dad up by saying he had…killed mom," Joe answered in a low voice.

Frank's eyes flashed in anger. "And?"

-"It's ok. Sam got to him before anything really happened, he sent him home. He just wanted to let us know that he might be…disoriented or something when we came home."

-"Should we go check on him?"

-"I don't know. Maybe we should just give him a moment to recover…"

They agreed on that though neither admitted why; being around Fenton always brought up memories of their mother because he so obviously never once stopped thinking about her.

Frank went back into the living room but before Joe could follow, Iola grabbed his hand and pulled him further down the hallway.

"Is everything ok?" she asked.

He nodded. "Yeah, sure, it's fine."

He cleared his throat loudly to keep the awkward silence from enclosing them. He failed. She stood there looking at him with her large eyes and her lips were forming a little thoughtful pout. Should he kiss her? He couldn't deny he wanted to…

"So, what are we?" she suddenly asked.

He was taken aback. "What? What do you mean?"

-"I mean, we were great friends when we were little. U.F.A.B.B.; United in the Fight Against Big Brothers, remember? Then you went to high school and totally started to ignore me…"

-"Iola…"

-"And then I went to high school and you're still ignoring me, am I not cool enough or something?"

-"No! No, that's not…No, you're way cool!"

She growled exasperatedly.

He sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. "Look, if you haven't noticed it already, I suck with the whole talking thing so… Can I rather _do_ something to make this up to you?"

She crossed her arms and the pout on her lips became teasing instead of annoyed. "Keep talking."

Joe realized she was playing at something. He was not supposed to mess this up. "Um…" What could she be talking about? Then it struck him. He snapped his fingers. "Fabiana's party!"

Fabiana was their friend Tony's older sister and she was turning 18 next week and she'd be throwing a party next Friday.

The tease pout turned into a sly smile and he knew he was on the right track.

"So, you wanna go with me to Fabiana's party next weekend?" he asked coolly.

The tease pout came back. "I'll check my schedule," she replied and walked away.

Joe laughed to himself. "Oh, yeah. Score for me."

XOXOXOX

Heaven or Hell? He couldn't tell. –And didn't really care. Although the vomit was pushing its way up his esophagus and any minute now he might choke on his own swollen tongue, the numb sense of unreality was the perfect escape….

_Yeah… with the direction I'm trying to pull this towards, it's not very easy to maintain excitement so… it just has to be this way…Please comment… _


	7. Chapter 6: Life of the Party

_Hello! Lately I've been drowning my self in Harry Potter material to keep from succumbing to withdrawal (it's over, it's so sad!) so in the meantime I forgot to write and I kinda struggled to finish this chapter today so it might have some errors (more than usually, I mean)._

_To all of you adorable reviewers:_

_**Jolly001**__: Thank you for your understanding. Sam will be around…_

_**Red Hardy**__: Thank you so much!_

_**Thunderknigh**__t: Thanks for still reading!_

_**Shallowbunny**__: Thanks for the encouragement!_

_**Whitetigers**__: Thank you for commenting!_

_**Dr drew**__: Thanks for reading and reviewing!_

_**Mom**__: Thank you for… wait, she hasn't read a word of what I've ever written… not that I'd allow her to… so no thanks to her…_

XOXOXOX

_**Life of the Party**_

The next day Joe woke up a little before noon when Frank knocked on his door and entered without waiting for permission.

The day before had passed uneventfully as far as the boys were concerned. After much fun at the Morton farm they had given Callie and Biff rides back home and then went to see Tony at Mr. Pizza because of a school assignment and ended up eating pizzas for dinner with the Prito-family. Then they had returned home, gotten reprimanded by their aunt for not finishing their work in the garage, and gone to their rooms to finish some studies. By then, their father still wasn't back and after calling Sam Radley, Gertrude had shooed them to bed.

"So what happened?" Frank eagerly asked.

"Huh?" Joe blinked, still half asleep.

-"With Iola? Yesterday?"

-"Oh. That," Joe smiled at the impatience in Frank's voice. "Well, we're going together to Fabiana's party so that's something…."

"I knew it," Frank grinned and Joe threw a pillow at him. Frank threw it back and then acted like he was going to jump on the bed.

"Don't you…UH!" Joe exclaimed but his words got muffled under Frank's weight.

They wrestled for a while until Joe managed to push his brother off. "There! Take that…" then he suddenly froze. "My god… What am I going to wear?"

They both burst out laughing.

After the laughing fit had passed, Joe looked seriously at Frank. "Is dad home?"

XOXOXOX

Gertrude entered her brother's bedroom and closed the door behind her. The stale air smelled bad and she breathed through her mouth while she shook Fenton by the shoulder.

"Fenton, where were you last night?" He just turned on his other side and Gertrude snapped, her worries turning into fury. "Answer me, damn it!"

Fenton groaned and sat up in the bed. "I was talking to Michael Hooper…"

"Were you drinking again?" she asked angrily.

He didn't answer.

Gertrude nodded knowingly. "Watch out, Fenton. It's an easy pit to fall into; almost impossible to get back out."

XOXOXOX

"Is dad ok?" Frank asked while he and Joe were eating breakfast which was really lunch.

Gertrude's lips were drawn in a thin line. "He will be… I hope," the last words she muttered to herself.

The doorbell rang.

Joe stood up to answer it.

"Oh, Mr. Hooper, hi," he greeted a little surprised, not knowing what he could be doing there. His aunt was being very discreet about his father's goings.

"Hello, Joe," Michael greeted back, "Is your dad up yet?"

-"No, actually he's not but…"

-"You don't mind me going upstairs and see how he's doing, do ya?" the tall man cut in and brushed past Joe without waiting for an answer, leaving the teen confused.

"O-K… Help yourself then," he muttered and closed the door.

XOXOXOX

Fenton growled annoyed at the sound of someone knocking, thinking it must be Gertrude. "What is it?" he asked in a gruff tone.

The door opened and Michael Hooper came in. "Hey, I see last night was hard on you, huh?"

"You have no idea; my head's splitting," Fenton said.

Michael shrugged. "Actually, I do. Which is why I brought you this, it's gonna feel better, I promise." He pulled up a flask from the inside pocket of his jacket.

Not caring what it took to rid him of the headache, Fenton accepted it and took a big sip from it. Then he handed it back to its owner who –before downing some of its content for company -lifted it in a 'cheers' manner; "To the Hell that is life!"

XOXOXOX

Life still went on. Slowly. Almost like it was teasing him: "Look, you're going to live for a long time and die in your bed at an old age, near sightless and with gray hair. –All alone." After the weekend, came another week. The boys went to school and Sam came to the conclusion that getting Fenton's mind off of past events was the best way for him to carry on. So he found him a case to solve. Something simple to begin with.

Fenton looked at paper before him incredulously. "Tax fraud? Embezzlement?"

Sam looked back at him. "What? Is that below you?"

Fenton shook his head. "No, that's not what I meant. It's just… Isn't this a police matter?"

"The man was convicted. His mother –a Mrs. Sanderson -believes he was framed, she wants us to find out who did it," Sam was watching Fenton with a critical eye. He cocked his head to the side. "Are you not ready?"

-"Yes, I am. God, I am. –I'm dying to get out of this house. But this report seems to indicate…well, all the evidence seem to lead to this man."

Sam smirked. "Well, you know them mothers. They can be more stubborn than the Devil."

Fenton smiled a little, trying to hide the sting of pain in his heart at Sam's implication. He wanted to get away from that subject.

"What are you going to do?"

Sam sighed. "I'm still trying to track down the person who set you up the other day. He's good at hiding. But I'll get him, don't worry."

Fenton nodded. "All right, let's get back to business."

XOXOXOX

All the Hardys felt that the week passed surprisingly fast and almost normally –except of course for the hollow space that Laura had left in everybody's' heart when she left this world.

By the end of the week only Callie and Chet had asked Frank and Joe 'how they were doing.'

Joe got a B-plus on a history pop quiz and celebrated with his friends at Mr. Pizza.

Fenton solved his case.

Sam and Ethel came by late in the afternoon. Fenton was finishing his report.

Sam tapped on the door. "Fenton? How's it going?"

Fenton looked up from his laptop. "Fine. Hello, Ethel."

Sam's wife smiled. "Hello to you too, how are you?"

Fenton looked away. He hated the sympathy in her voice. He cleared his throat. "Just fine." He looked back at Sam. "Simple case. Mr. Sanderson did it after all. But he almost had me when he framed his working partner to make it look like he had been framed himself –stashed some documents at his home. But I managed to get a hold of his telephone and e-mail records…" while talking, Fenton found himself staring at the couple's entwined fingers and it annoyed the hell out of him; the way Sam unknowingly rubbed the back of Ethel's hand with his thumb. He wanted them to stop but couldn't say it. So he tore his eyes away from the sight and looked back at the laptop screen while speaking. "I repaid Mrs. Sanderson."

Sam frowned a little before he nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, I guess that makes sense…"

None of them spoke for a while.

"Are the boys at home?" Sam then asked.

Fenton nodded. "Yes. Yes, they were coming from the mall. They're going to a party tonight."

XOXOXOX

Frank was coming from the shower and passing his brother's room when something caught his eye. He stopped and peeked through the doorway.

Joe stood in front of a human-sized mirror and admired himself while putting hair wax into his damp hair. Then he noticed Frank looking him up and down and smiled.

"What?"

Frank crossed his arms and tried to suppress the grin. "Joe… I… I just have to ask –the leather pants?"

Joe turned around to face him. He was also grinning. "What about them? Iola said they'd look hot."

His older brother sneered. "Oh! _Iola said they'd look hot_," he mimicked.

"Screw you, Frank," Joe shook his head but blushed a little. He swung a light-blue Burberry-patterned shirt over his shoulders and pulled the sleeves over his arms. "When do we pick up Callie?"

Frank looked at his watch. "In 30 minutes or so. Iola's coming with Chet?"

Joe nodded. "Naturally." He rubbed his hands together. "Now, let's see what we can do about that hair of yours."

-"Hm? What's wrong with it?" Frank instinctively brought up a hand to his head.

Joe gave him a sympathetic smile. "Wavy just isn't your style, bro."

XOXOXOX

The Prito family was large. There had been a gathering for the adults over the day and the last of them were leaving when the first teens arrived. Giancarlo and Isabella Prito had five children; Tony being the youngest and the only son, a year younger than Fabiana. Their older sisters; Elettra, Domenica and Antonella were all over twenty years old. Elettra and Domenica were in college while Antonella had gone back to Italy to study architecture so Fabiana and Antonio were the only ones still living with their parents.

The Pritos had a large basement, decorated as a recreation room for the teens. That was where the youngsters gathered.

The floor vibrated with the strong beat of the loud techno music as the teenagers filled it bit by bit. A table with multi-colored sodas was in one corner of the room. Maybe someone spiked some of them with something stronger, who knew? Beside that table there was another table full of plates with pizza slices, canapés and bruschetta and the spice smell hovered faintly in the air. The lights had been dimmed except for the flashers that made all movements slower and more exotic.

Fabiana had long black hair and eyelashes, dark sparkling eyes and she was wearing a black, short skirt and a black bikini top under a football jacket with the name of the team on it and a peaked cap with the name of the soccer team as she took interest in most sports. She was the head cheerleader and adored by most boys of the school as her two older sisters had been before her -so no one as much as thought about picking on Tony.

She greeted all of her guests with kisses on both cheeks.

"Hi, guys! Welcome, did you bring me presents?" she asked the Hardy brothers and Callie when they arrived, with a gleam in her eyes.

"Hi, Fab…We just might have," Joe smiled as he conjured up the wrapped gift from behind his back and was rewarded with a peck on each cheek. "Hey, have you seen Iola around?" he then asked.

She nodded as she shook the present against her ear. "Uh-huh, she's somewhere talking to Tony and Diego. Oh and Joe, I really like your pants…"

Joe grinned and turned briefly to his brother and his girlfriend who were simultaneously rolling their eyes. "Catchya guys later." And then he was off.

"Well, it's ridiculous. I mean, seriously, how can football be 'football' when you don't touch the ball with your freaking foot?" Tony, a soccer team player, raised an eyebrow at Biff who was a football player.

Diego Santoro, another soccer team member, nodded in agreement. "Exactly." Then he noticed Joe coming towards them. "Hey, Hardy… Wow, that pimp-look really suits you…"

Joe smiled sweetly. "As the loser-look suits you, Santoro."

They weren't enemies although they weren't exactly friends either. They were on different sport teams. There was certain coolness they had to maintain.

"What should one call it then?" Biff said, continuing their earlier conversation.

"Rugby," Diego answered.

"Legal brutality?" Tony suggested.

"That's a whole different thing…" Biff said, ignoring Tony.

Joe observed a smiling Iola who was sitting on a table, watching the boys amusedly.

Diego turned his eyes towards her. "Hey, what did you say your name was? Julia? How come I haven't noticed you before?"

Iola snorted. "It's Iola… and I've noticed you, Diego… you used to pick on my brother a lot back in the days."

"Oh…" Diego looked embarrassed. "Um, who's your brother?"

"Chet Morton," Biff answered, "He's my friend." -Yet another reason why Biff couldn't stand Diego.

"Oh…" Diego repeated and then shrugged, "Well, I've matured since then." He leered at the girl.

Iola frowned, stood up and approached Joe.

"Hey. You look…" he really wanted to say 'beautiful' but didn't want to come off too cheesy, "Great."

She was wearing a wine-colored halter top, a short denim skirt, fishnet stockings and low-soled suede boots. "So do you," she said and smirked. "I told you those pants would look hot on you."

Joe laughed and looked over the room and then back at Iola. "You wanna dance?"

XOXOXOX

'God, I'm bored,' Fenton thought to himself. He was alone in the house and hadn't a clue where Gertrude had gone.

Every single TV channel was boring, all the paper work was finished and he was running out of those peanuts that had occupied his time for a while.

He drummed his fingers on the arm of the sofa while thinking. He felt like life had just stopped. At least his life. He suddenly wished he was younger and had more things to do. 'Is this like a middle-age crisis?' he wondered. He was only 42. No, his pointless thoughts were just a way of avoiding even more pointless thoughts –thoughts of Laura.

He quickly stood up from the sofa and grabbed the phone and dialed 411.

"Hello? Good evening, could you please give me Michael Hooper's cell phone number….?"

XOXOXOX

Iola flopped onto a chair next to Callie. She leaned her head on her friend's shoulder and sighed deeply. "Life is good. –And if the next song will be a slow one, it'll be perfect."

Callie smiled. "You're weird."

-"What? Why?

-"Because it's Joe Hardy you're talking about."

-"I know. Isn't he just the very embodiment of hotness?"

-"Speak for yourself."

-"Why are you so grumpy?"

Callie sighed. "It's nothing. It's just…Lydia."

Iola looked up and noticed a blond curly haired girl talking to Frank. Lydia Lachlan. She was one of Fabiana's friends and the next most wanted girl in the school. She was rather known to be a nympho and she had that 'naughty-girl'-stereotype reputation.

Iola shook her head. "I wouldn't worry too much. She's not his type. Frank wants smart girls."

"He's still a guy. I mean, look at that, could she expose herself any further?" Callie watched the girl disgustedly.

"Well, if she bends over, she's in trouble," Iola remarked.

As if on a cue Lydia dropped her purse. The two friends groaned painfully as she bent down to pick it up and the boys around her whistled.

Frank walked over to his girlfriend and handed her a glass of soda. "There you go."

"Thanks. Is all well with the queen of Slutland?" Callie nodded towards Lydia.

Frank and Iola exchanged brief sympathetic but amused looks. Then Frank put his glass down and came to stand behind Callie. He gently pulled the hair behind her ears and reached down to kiss the top of her head. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were jealous," he said into her hair.

"What, are you kidding me? She's killing me," Callie whimpered although she was enjoying the caresses.

"But she's so…" Frank paused to breath in her smell, "Easy…. Where's the fun in that?"

Callie turned her head a little bit, wanting his lips on hers but he teasingly pulled back and kissed the side of her neck and nibbled on her earlobe instead.

Iola was getting restless beside them. "Eh...erm… I think I'll just leave you two and go find Joe now…"

She passed her brother Chet where he was trying to steady a quite drunk Fabiana. She only stopped to give him a mischievous wink when he turned his desperate eyes to her.

A slow song started playing and Iola smiled when she noticed Joe coming out of the bathroom, towards her. They met in the middle of dance floor and he pulled her into his arms, wrapping them around her waist. She leaned her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes and murmured: "Mmh. Life is good."

Chet wasn't sure what to do. Fabiana clung tightly to him even though she wasn't that drunk. She could very well stand on her own. She was just a little… jolly –and then a little moody and whiny in between.

"Come on, Fab. Let's get you outside. I think you need a little fresh air," he finally said. He led her up the stairs and out to the back yard. She brushed the dry snow off the porch and sat down and he sat beside her.

She sighed. "You know, Chet, everyone just see me as a piece of ass."

Chet was bewildered. Where was that coming from? He cleared his throat uneasily. "And… you don't think you're giving them a reason to?"

"That's not the point."

Chet waited.

"All the guys around here are just trying to get me to bed with them, they never want to stick around to see if there's anything more to me. I'm not even worth of a second go…"

Combined with the fact that she was sliding her hand over his chest, he was starting to understand the tone of her voice and implications of her actions.

"What makes you think I feel any differently?" he asked stiffly.

She laughed. "Because… you're a nice guy, Chet, and tonight, when you could have taken me up to the bedroom, you took me out here."

"I don't take advantage of my friends," he answered.

-"See?"

Chet shook his head. What the hell was happening here? "Look, why don't we go back in now? I think you've had enough fresh air."

"Will you dance with me then?" she blinked at him.

-"Fab…"

-"Pleeease."

-"Whatever," Chet rolled his eyes.

He helped her to her feet and led her back inside. When they were downstairs, she dragged him into the middle of the crowd on the floor. Since he wasn't sure what to do she put his hand on her waist where she wanted them and wrapped her arms around his neck. With a petrified expression Chet turned his head from side to side and noticed people looking, Biff and Tony smirked and raised their glasses.

Chet just gulped.

XOXOXOX

It was about two a.m. when the Haryds, Mortons, Callie and Biff went outside for air.

"Hey, guys, wanna go for a drive? My feet will fall off if I dance much more," Joe complained.

Iola smiled, nodding. "I'd like that."

"Sure, why not? Night's young and all," Biff shrugged.

"Your car, Chet?" Frank said in an agreement.

"You bet," Chet glancing half-panicked at the door.

"Anything to show off the car, huh, Chet?" Callie raised an eyebrow.

"Anything to get away from Fabiana," Chet corrected.

Biff shook his head. "The hottest girl in school-" Callie and Iola shot him narrow-eyed glances. "I'm sorry –one of the hottest girls in school wants you and you run away with tail between your legs?"

Chet didn't answer but headed towards the car, fumbling in his pockets for the keys.

"Hey, Chet, can I try it out?" Joe asked hopefully.

Chet gazed at him. "My car?"

-"Oh, come on! Just a little…"

-"Did you drink anything tonight?"

-"Loads. But nothing spiked. Chet, I promise, I'd feel it. And I've got all of you to look after me, ok?" Joe reasoned, meaning Chet, Biff and his brother who all had driver's licenses.

"Fine, but if you ruin anything I swear to God…" Chet threatened.

-"Lighten up, it's gonna be fine," Joe snatched the key from his friend's hands.

There was a middle seat in the front of the car in which Iola sat with her brother next to her on the passenger side. Biff sat behind Chet, Callie in the middle and Frank beside her behind Joe.

Although he had only been driving for a few months under supervision, Joe was good at it. He confidently shifted gears without looking at the stick or without the car yanking as he did so. He took it as a compliment when he looked into the rearview mirror and saw that his brother was paying no attention to his driving but was focusing on this girlfriend's lips. Joe smirked and moved his hand to the gear shift since they were nearing a red traffic light. His hand brushed something warm. He quickly looked down. Iola's thigh. If she had felt it, she didn't mind because she didn't move away.

After some time he reached the conclusion that she had put her leg there deliberately because he kept brushing against her skin and she did nothing. Joe wished her older brother wasn't sitting beside her or he would have just left his hand there.

Despite the cold, the young people of Bayport seemed to be in a gallivanting-mood this night. Although the traffic was slow, it was quite heavy. The sound of people laughing inside the bars and the music of the night clubs was easily heard on the street. People tripped on the icy sidewalks, whether it was because of too much alcohol or high heels. Teens they knew from school waved or nodded at them and two or three showed fists or made vulgar gestures. 'Base ball teammate' each of the boys thought to themselves, except Frank who didn't notice. He and Callie were still making out.

Suddenly Biff gasped sharply.

Joe looked into the rearview mirror. "What is it?"

"Can we park somewhere close?" Biff asked between clenched teeth.

"I'll try," Joe said and looked around. Luckily a car was leaving its spot in front of a bar and Joe hurried to take its place.

The car had barely stopped when Biff rushed out; slamming the door behind him so harshly that Chet winced.

The teens all turned in their seats to see what Biff was up to. Their eyes landed on the enormous blond man. He was reeling dangerously on the slippery street. Someone grabbed his arm but toppled himself.

Frank and Joe's eyes widened. They exchanged brief looks and both dashed out of the car.

"Dad!" Frank exclaimed.

Biff stood in front of the two men with his arms crossed and shook his head disgustedly.

"You're sickening," he said icily, pointing the words towards his father.

Michael clumsily wiped the stupid grin off his face. "It's nottin', Allen, surreshly, we're just…" he slurred.

"Oh, shut up!" Biff said angrily. "Does mom know you went out?"

"I'm a grown man, I don't haffta report erything I do t'er…" his father also sounded like he was getting angry.

Although Biff was large compared to many of his peers, Michael towered over him but the boy didn't falter under his gaze. "Well, you look like a baby to me."

Fenton decided to come to Michaels aid. "Now, now, Biff… he's your father, you should show him-"

"Respect?" Biff quirked an eyebrow and looked back at his dad. "Why? When have you ever shown us respect?"

No one said a word. Only sounds of visible breaths.

Biff groaned. "You know what? Forget it. Let's just get you home."

"Allen…" Michael began.

"_Dad_," Biff said, "You were supposed to watch over Jimmy tonight, remember?" Jimmy was Biff's 12 year old brother. He had recently come down with a bad cold and then the flu.

"I assure you that at the moment I have no qualms about knocking you out if that's what it takes," Biff eyes shone with fury.

The Hardy brothers shifted uncomfortably. This was an uncomfortable scene. As raged as Biff looked, he seemed to have it all under control, like perhaps, he was used to this kind of thing. He grabbed his father's arm and held him still as if he thought he'd try and run away while he groped his pockets for his cell phone. He turned to his friends.

"Hey, guys, you just take your dad home, I'm calling a cab."

"Biff, are you sure…?" Frank started.

-"I've got it," the blond boy interrupted. "Just go."

Frank nodded reluctantly and took his own staggering father's arm and led him to the car with Joe following.

While all this had been going on Chet had moved to the driver's seat and Callie to the front passenger seat so Fenton sat in the middle in the back with each son on his sides.

The drive home was silent but full of thoughts.

XOXOXOX

_Ahem. Again with the editing skills… It just kind of stretched, and I thought the characters deserved a little fun too, anyway… _

_Like I said before, I haven't been writing since I read Harry Potter and so I don't know whether I'll manage to write a whole chapter in a week, I honestly doubt that since work doesn't leave much time for such difficult tasks so the story may very well be going on hiatus for a while (isn't that the word you use?)… but school starts soon and amazingly enough that'll probably leave me with more free time than summer vacation… But for now it's all kind of uncertain. _


End file.
